


Before the dawn

by NoGimmicksNeeded



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoGimmicksNeeded/pseuds/NoGimmicksNeeded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is saved, the boss is happy, and the only thing the hero of the day has to do now is rest and recover. But not all wounds can be healed with a first aid kit and a soldering iron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the dawn

 

_When everything falls you stood to believe in us all_

_Carried our hands through everything_

_With the slightest snicker you’re right there_

_Standing in front of me_

_Whether my vision is on tonight_

_I think of you all the time_

_With the slightest hesitance coming up over me_

_To show you signs of pity_

_To speak of your suffering  
-S.T.E.M. - Type 12_

 

It may not be the end of the world, but it damn sure feels like it. As if choosing the right path for humanity’s development is not enough, there are yet more things to do, messes to sort out, people to talk to. It has never been a problem for him before, he feels most comfortable while working, but the mess on Panchaea is different.

Adam swallows a lump in his throat as he finally makes his way up from the broadcast room and takes a good look around. He has been through many bloody missions in his life. Some of them were brutal, real slaughterhouses, mayhem created by the opponents or on occasion by himself, but this was something else entirely. Dozens of innocent people - workers, scientists, doctors, cleaning personnel, guards – good, decent people, dead, their blood splattered and smeared all over the floors and walls. It was already there when he’d arrived. Deafening silence is now hanging in the air, weighing heavily on his conscience. He’d tried to keep the body count to a minimum, where possible – after all, these people were not responsible for some crazed lunatic driving them all insane with one push of a button. It wasn’t Adam’s usual modus operandi - he is decidedly more of an Attila the Hun than Mahatma Gandhi - but the horror he’d seen in these people’s eyes was enough for him to put his trusty sniper rifle away.

He wonders how many others survived.

Sarif, for one, is alive and well, along with the others, safely hiding where Adam had left them. David is making rounds in the small room, occasionally glancing at the TV screen, when Adam finally reaches his hideout.

“Adam!” The man exclaims, in joy and relief. “I’m so glad you’ve made it. But of course you did – if anyone could have gotten through that mess, it’s you.”

Adam isn’t entirely sure how honest the man’s enthusiasm is. He absently notes Eliza broadcasting Sarif’s message on Picus TV.

“You made the right choice, son,” Adam feels a pat on his shoulder. “I knew you would. You did good.”

Adam ponders on what kind of greeting he’d have received, were he to unleash Taggart’s or Darrow’s versions of truth upon the world. _Go and stand in the corner, son, and think about what you did…_

“Thanks, boss.”

“Evac teams are on their way. I called as soon as the communications were back online,” Sarif says. Adam lets himself feel relieved; he was half certain he’d be forced to handle the evacuation efforts as well.

“I’ve contacted Taggart, he and his team are fine,” Sarif continues. “I still can’t raise Darrow though.”

“He didn’t make it,” Adam replies curtly, looking his boss straight in the eye.

“Huh,” the man says, pursing his lips and narrowing his gaze at Adam. David Sarif is many things, but oblivious he is not. And reading between the lines has always been his specialty. “Fallen a victim of his own creations, no doubt.”

Memory of him putting a bullet in Hugh Darrow’s head right after the old madman had given him the access code flashes briefly in Adam’s mind.

“You could say that.”

“Right,” Sarif says after an uncomfortable pause. “See if you can raise Pritchard. I have no wish to be stuck in this hellhole until the evac gets here.”

Adam taps on the infolink, which has been lagging ever since he left Darrow. It’s gotten even worse after the fight with Zhao. He suspects a concussion, which had possibly interfered with his augs, but there is nothing he could do about it now, so he leaves this to worry about later.

“Prichard. You there?”

“Of course. I’ve been waiting when our savior would finally grace me with his heroic presence.”

“Your gratitude is overwhelming.” He can almost hear Pritchard rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “Can you reach Malik for me? We need to get out of here. I’ve had enough of this place.”

There is a brief pause.

“Malik is in the hospital, Adam,” Pritchard says carefully. “After Hengsha. She heroed through until you reemerged from being MIA, but her injuries caught up with her after all. Haven’t you heard?”

“…Fuck Hengsha.”

“Indeed. Contacting reserve pilot now.”

“Thanks, Francis.”

“Bah, say nothing of it. It’s the least I can do after you so bravely saved not only the entire world, but our jobs as well.”

Adam closes his eyes and sighs. Somehow, Pritchard’s snarky comments don’t annoy him nearly as much as they used to. In fact, he is glad to hear them. After all he went through in the past few days, it is good to know some things don’t change, and snide remarks from the head of cyber security give him some sense of stability. Adam is surprised, however, that not a single trace of previous concern in Pritchard’s voice could be heard now. The sadness and despair when he said that Adam was on his own was either imagined, or the sarcastic genius regretted his unusual outburst of emotion.

“Be a dear and drop by the medbay when you return, okay?” Meanwhile, Pritchard continues. “The good doctor is done for the day, but I’d hate to see you die from that concussion you have. Your vitals look especially shitty today.”

“You always know just how to make me feel better. I’ll be fine.”

“Adam. Medbay. ASAP. Don’t try my patience.”

“Yes, _mom_.”

“Atta boy. Pritchard out.”

 

***

For the first time in a few days Pritchard can finally breathe freely. Using the opportunity, he takes in a deep breath, reveling in the sensation. Air fills his lungs, fresh and clean, for once not full of bitter smoke; he’s lost count how many cigarettes he smoked already. The realization that Jensen would soon be back in Detroit, alive and almost well, and certainly in one piece, is slowly sinking in, lifting the weight from his shoulders and heart. Everything is as fine as it could be given the circumstances. Sarif is not only alive, but, one could say, thriving. Malik is on her way to recovery. The company got rid of the obstacles and boosted its popularity in one fell swoop. The world is safe.

Everything is going to be alright.

When Frank first heard Adam’s voice after these endlessly long hours, he found it difficult to keep up his usual cold and sarcastic façade. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more – to scream at the bastard for making him worry or to cry in relief.

Sticking to the usual wise cracking seemed like the safest option.

Only that one time right before the end of it all, when the world was falling apart, did Frank let a note of concern and desperation slip through. Even with that little display of emotion he was afraid that he disclosed too much. Confronting his own feelings had never been easy for him. Any given psychologist, hell, even Adam himself with his fancy CASIE aug, could probably find hundreds of reasons and explanations for that, but acknowledging the problem does not make it go away. Frank chooses to hide it behind snarky comments, snide remarks and being a genuine pain in the ass. However in that last moment the thought that he likely will never see Adam again was getting more and more persistent, and to imagine that Adam would die without knowing the most important thing Frank could ever tell him made the situation that much more unbearable.

Right then and there he swore that if everything will somehow manage to not turn to complete shit, he would tell Adam how he felt for over half a year now.

Promising is one thing, and actually following through with the idea is something entirely different. Now the possibility of an inhumanly strong fist connecting with his very much humanly fragile face is all too real. If he has to be honest with himself, Frank isn’t afraid of rejection. He has long since accepted that as an inevitability if this was ever to surface. Futile dreams, hopes and what-if scenarios never concern his logical mind – not in his professional sphere, and definitely not in the matters like this. He knows Adam and Megan used to be a thing. He saw the beginning, the development and the end of that unfortunate affair, and he made his own conclusions from it. Frank has never seen the head of security with anyone else, and he’d deduced that the man is not only phenomenally bad at relationships, but is also entirely consumed by the idea of rescuing his damsel in distress in a vain hope that she will instantly fall back in love with him again, in gratitude for all his heroic deeds in her name. That, and exacting revenge on those who dared to touch his precious doctor Reed.

Neither of those things were something Frank thought or hoped he could compete with. It’s not like their current professional relationship and its disposition exactly call for romance, either. Besides, getting over an unrequited attachment was nothing new for him anyway.

***

Tending to hero’s wounds is a long and nasty business. There’s a lot of small injuries that require precision, and Frank spends a good hour removing shrapnel with a pair of tweezers from various parts of Jensen’s body. The hero himself is stoically silent, even though Frank is more than certain some of the bits have to hurt like a bitch.

Then there’s a while deal with Adam’s neural augmentations combined with a concussion. That is pretty far beyond Frank’s expertise, but from what he could figure, all the augs have to be shut down and then rebooted when the problem is fixed, otherwise the procedure will be unbearably painful and distressing. He tells the head of security to lay down as comfortably as possible.

“I’m going to shut down everything,” he explains,” And I mean literally _everything._ You won’t feel anything at all. No sight, no smell, no sounds, no touch. It will be… unpleasant.”

“Why is it always when doctors say “unpleasant” it means “hurt like hell”?”

“Relax, it won’t. Just… lay down and trust me.”

“Oddly enough, I actually do,” Adam says, visibly trying to relax, “No matter how wrong that just sounded.”

“Very funny, Jensen. Shut it.”

It takes _forever._ It’s a complicated and precise operation, and a few times Frank almost calls for the doctor. It seems it would be easier to just reinstall the whole thing, because infolink and hacking implants seem to have melded into one small mess. When the job is done, it’s already dark outside, and Frank notices his hands are shaking from tension and exhaustion. He never needed a cigarette as badly as he does now, his nerves are acting up, and not only because of the operation.

He’s holding Adam’s hand in his. It’s weird. The hand is smooth and pleasant to the touch, a few degrees colder than Frank’s own skin. The computer genius admires the fine work on the prosthesis, gently caressing each joint, experimentally intertwining their fingers. He likes the way it looks; if he could distance himself from the situation, he could imagine that’s what it would be like, to be able to hold Adam’s hand, casually, with no repercussions.

But at the same time, it feels wrong. Adam can’t feel what is happening to him, he can’t consent to this action, affectionate as it may be. Frank feels as if he’s violating his trust, and unwillingly lets go.

With a sigh, he solders the last bullet hole closed and with a push of a button returns Adam to the world of senses.

“That should be all,” Frank says, putting the soldering iron away. Of all the weird things he’s done while working at Sarif Industries, manually fixing the broken metal parts on the security head’s body is definitely up there. “There’s of course some minor bruising and stuff, but since I now fixed your Sentinel aug, that should take care of itself.”

Adam nods, looking distant, as if he isn’t entirely there. He carefully gets up, only slightly scowling in pain, and takes a few experimental paces around the room. He looks dizzy and out of sorts, and Pritchard takes a look at the screen to check how the vestibular system was doing. Everything seems in order.

“Just try to avoid breaking walls with one punch or carrying vending machines around, and you should be just like brand new, freshly out of the package.”

A ghost of a smile appears briefly on Adam’s lips as he walks across the room to the window.

Frank watches as the man flexes his hand, closely observing the movements of the servo motors, listening to the barely audible whirling. Seemingly satisfied, he inhales deeply, as if ready to say something, but shakes his head instead and stares through the window as if it was the most fascinating thing he has ever seen.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Frank purses his lips in a fake discontent; he has practiced all his lines to sound exactly as they would after any other mission, as if nothing has changed. “This is not exactly my job, and these aren’t exactly my working hours, you know.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Thanks, Pritchard,” Adam says, not turning back at him, his gaze transfixed on the burning streets of Detroit and rain pouring down from the eternally gray skies. “Honestly, thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you and I’m glad… I’m glad to know you’re alright.”

Jensen sounds so sincere and vulnerable, as if he’s about to collapse under the weight of his own actions and choices. Frank has never seen him lose his composure like that. Adam was always a stoic, a giant that never faltered or crumbled under pressure. It is understandable, of course, but it pains him nonetheless. Frank desperately wishes he could stay, come closer, lay his head on Adam’s shoulder and just stand like that, looking at the world which was just saved, but was actively resisting salvation. He wants to tell him that everything will be alright, that he will be there for him, that he will always be his friend no matter what happens. He wants to say they’ll get through this together.

But there isn’t any doubt that this would never happen, because Pritchard is aware that Adam probably doesn’t even consider him a friend, much less someone he could confide in and share his life with.

“Enjoy your time off,” Adam adds. If there was ever a sign that the conversation is over, this is it.

Pritchard says nothing. What could he say, anyway? _Thank you, and enjoy yours too, you deserve it, you big damn hero?_ He’s sure that by now Adam has heard it so many times it has lost all the meaning. _I hope you’ll be fine, I’d hate to see you turn into a pile of scrap material after putting all this effort into fixing you up?_ Adam rarely appreciates his humor anyway and given the circumstances this would sound plain morbid; besides, not all wounds can be fixed with a first aid kit and a toolbox. _You know, I almost went mad from worrying about you?_ The last thing Pritchard needs is to be taken away by men in white coats, because that’s exactly what would happen if he were to make such a lapse in character.

So he says nothing. Not even _god, get some rest, Jensen,_ or a simple _good night,_ and especially not the things he’d sworn to say.

He tells himself that it is for the best to leave Adam to his devices. The big old tin man is, no doubt, exhausted, and the last thing he wants to see is his, Pritchard’s, grumpy and sleep-deprived face. Frank gives the head of security one last thorough look over. He will be fine, somehow he always is in the end, Pritchard thinks and quietly leaves.

_Brave sir Francis ran away_. A voice pipes up in his heard, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his own conscience. _Bravely ran away, away._

“No, I didn’t.”

_When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled!_

“Bullshit.” At this point he isn’t entirely sure that his inner conversation is inner as he thinks, because two guards patrolling the hallway give him a weird stare. So what, Frank reassures himself, they walk around, they stare at people. It’s their job. His famous paranoia is getting the better of him again, and he sighs with relief when he reaches the safety of his own office.

_Yes, brave sir Francis turned about and gallantly he chickened out_.

He takes his sweet time staying in the office, staring at a flickering computer screen, waiting for the building to get even emptier than it already is. For the first time, his mind isn’t occupied with problems and possible solutions and worries about Adam’s whereabouts and safety. Frank doesn’t quite know what to do with this newfound freedom, and when there are only the security guys left sauntering about, he figures he might as well head home. He gathers papers and USB drives from his desk and shoves the mess into his backpack. He is certain he doesn’t need any of that. What he needs is something to occupy his head and hands and get rid of the irritatingly accurate voice of his own conscience. He slams his office door shut, and digs into his pockets searching for keys.

_Bravely taking to his feet, he beat a very brave retreat,_ his mind comments.

The underground parking is completely deserted, when he gets there. It must be around two or three in the morning, so it’s hardly surprising. It was a difficult day for all of them, and Sarif is kind enough to let them rest. Now it’s turn for the lawyers and the PR to get busy, creating a flattering image of the company in the media and bargaining out a few extra rights and liberties while they’re at it, in the light of current events. Frank lights up a cigarette.

_Bravest of the brave, sir Francis._

His infolink is off. Frank doesn’t expect anyone to need him after these weeks and weeks of continuous work, he deserves some rest, just like the hero of the day does, and he’d be damned if he let anyone disturb him. Somehow he manages to entirely forget about the existence of mobile phones, and is unpleasantly reminded by the ringtone reserved for David Sarif, obnoxiously echoing across the empty space. Frank stifles a moan about the unfairness of it all; of course, Sarif would be up at this ungodly hour and of course, he’d be bothering him, Frank Prichard, of all people.

“Tell me you didn’t just leave him alone,” his boss says without any preamble. “He can’t be just left like that, not in his state! He’s distressed, exhausted and heartbroken, Frank! We can’t take him to a therapist, you know how he gets, and I can’t spare the firepower necessary to drag his shiny metal ass there.”

Frank hates it when Sarif attempts to joke. He hates it even more when he tries to manipulate him into doing his bidding.

“You gotta stay with him, Pritchard,” Sarif’s tone shifts towards patronizingly-convincing. Frank leans against the wall, closes his eyes and sighs with resignation.

_I’m not a babysitter,_ he wants to say.

_It’s not my job,_ he wants to say.

_Isn’t there anyone else who could be doing this,_ he wants to say.

Instead, he says nothing. Not that his silence or lack thereof actually changes anything; of course, he’d have to go back there, the boss can be so persuasive that Frank doesn’t even realize the moment his defenses give way and he agrees to do as asked. Sarif carefully avoids the word _friend_ , but all his arguments point towards the obvious fact that there is a special kind of connection between Adam and Pritchard, and all of Pritchard’s meek attempts to protest are gently, but firmly rejected. By the end of the conversation Pritchard is already thinking that indeed, leaving the savior of the world alone with a concussion is kind of a dick move.

And when Sarif throws in an extra week off to sweeten the deal, not accepting it seems plain stupid.

So much for brave retreat, he thinks bitterly, getting on his motorcycle.

***

Streets of Detroit reek of despair, hopelessness and burning rubber. The stench reaches Adam all the way to his apartment in the Chiron building. Although it’s the middle of the night, it’s bright as daylight thanks to the city lights and the fires. God, all the fires. Adam wonders how long will it take for the city to recover. Would this ever stop? Has he saved the world or unknowingly started a war that he won’t be able to finish? Somehow his gut is telling him it’s the latter. People always want change but can never welcome it. They are proud of being unique, yet can never accept those who are different from them.

Mankind is probably doomed anyway, and no attempt to push it forward and to make a new step in evolution is going to change man’s self-destructive tendencies. They will always find things to fight about, and there are always going to be those who exploit this to suit their needs. No matter what he did today, in a grand scheme of things, it doesn’t change shit. _Why did I think anything I did ever truly mattered,_ Adam thinks to himself, pouring a glass of whiskey and returning to the living room.

Adam smokes with his windows open, letting in the cold and the rain, but he isn’t particularly bothered by that. He never liked his apartment. He never had the time to familiarize himself with it, really, what with him travelling all over the world uncovering global conspiracies and all. Even now that he’s free to rest for as long as he needs Adam realizes he’d rather be anywhere else but here. The apartment is so irreparably empty; even if he’d finally unpack all his stuff and attempted to give the place some personality an illusion of coziness, it would still feel lonely and abandoned. Remembering Megan’s place doesn’t help; it somehow was homey and lived-in, despite the fact that Megan was home about as often as Adam. It was her and Kubrick that made the atmosphere.

Right now, Adam would give anything to not be alone. It’s not a sudden realization, but he is taken aback by it nonetheless. He’s never been a people person, and it never bothered him before. He had a hard time relating to others, he was bad at meaningless chit-chat, he had neither time nor interest to be involved in social lives of his co-workers.

The realization that he has no friends is also not a sudden one, but it’s decidedly more unpleasant. Who could he go to at the moment like this? Malik is the immediate first thought, but she’s in the hospital, and even though he’s sure that she’d welcome visitors, it was middle of the night.

Sarif, a person he spends most of his time with, is coincidentally the last person he wants to see right now. Or for the foreseeable future. Too much has transpired between them, too many lies were unearthed. Adam remembers the time when Sarif, Megan and he were the perfect team, ready to take over the world, ready to start a revolution, ready to take humanity to a new future.

_He used you, she used you, everyone used you._

Except Pritchard. He was just sort of _there_. Always in his ear, overseeing his missions and reluctantly helping through tough spots, Pritchard has been with him this whole time. With his never-ending bullshit, bad mood and snarky commentary, he never demanded anything of him. He never used him. Never lied to him.

Sure, Francis complained, bitched and tried to undermine him, but Adam somehow knows now that there was never any real malice behind all that. It’s just the way Pritchard is; and strangely, over the time Adam has learned to accept him as he is, respect him and care about him.

Francis Pritchard is very much an acquired taste, kind of like coffee. Bitter and dark, but over the time you learn that it keeps you on your toes, awake and alive.

The door to his apartment swings open without any warning. Adam bolts for cover, grabbing a combat rifle from the coffee table on his way, and holds his breath. This is a reflex; it doesn’t occur to him there could be someone non-hostile coming to see him.

“Welcome home, Mr. Jensen,” the security system chirps.

“Your security is as dumb as it is easy,” a familiar voice grumbles from the hallway. Adam lets out the air he’s been holding and gets out from behind the wall to greet Francis Pritchard, who for some reason is gracing his apartment. “I’m pretty sure your detectors could be programmed to tell the difference between a walking giant chunk of metal and a moderately sized human being.”

“Let yourself in, why don’t you,” Adam says when he’s able to find his voice again.

“Don’t you ever call me paranoid,” Frank gives Adam a wry smile as he nods at the combat rifle. Of course, he completely ignores Adam’s comment and the sarcasm behind it, and invites himself further in the apartment.

“Do your augs include mind reading now? I was just thinking about you.”

“I’m touched, really, I am,” the head of cyber security takes off his jacket, looks around in search for a rack, but gives up and just throws it on one of the cardboard boxes. “Although I am sure you could occupy yourself with something more productive.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Francis?”

“I just figured you wouldn’t want to be alone on the night like this,” the man shrugs. “After saving the world and all.”

“I’m flattered. I had no idea you cared so deeply.”

“Don’t push it, Jensen,” Frank says flatly. “Now be a good host and pour me a drink, and I’ll be your free psychologist, shoulder to cry on and drinking buddy for the night.”

 

Figures he’d find Adam all broody and on his way to getting drunk. Usually he’d judge him for that, but given the circumstances, he can’t blame him. In fact, he joins the man in partaking in this unhealthy habit. Adam seems to have relaxed after Frank’s unexpected intrusion. Surprisingly, Adam doesn’t kick Frank out, even though he absolutely deserves it at least for breaking into his apartment. Frank hacked the door purely for the hell of it, he might be stupidly in love, but that doesn’t mean that he should cease trying to irritate Adam as much as he can.

To Adam’s knowledge, Frank doesn’t have any reason to be here, but he still pours the guest his drink and leads him to the sofa, while lighting up another cigarette.

Maybe his company is appreciated after all, Frank thinks, and it seems to be the case when Adam starts talking. Surprisingly, the other man doesn’t shut him off as is his usual MO. Too much has piled up, and even augmented shoulders can break under the weight of horrors and secrets that could change the world forever.

And Frank is glad to listen, even if not just for the reasons he’d given Adam, even if it’s selfish and not entirely decent of him to use the situation to spend more time with the man. Even if it’s more staring and admiring than actual listening.

After all, he’s seen it all through Adam’s eyes, and what the head of security needs right now is not an attentive audience, but just a legitimate opportunity to talk.

Surprisingly, Frank never really thought about kissing Adam. It was always so far out of the range of events that could possibly happen that he’d never wasted the time considering it. There has never been a situation calling for it, either: most of the time they interact there is half a world separating them and Adam is usually ass-deep in some trouble or the other. Even when they actually do face each other, both of them subconsciously make sure to put enough distance between them. With all this, Frank has never had a chance to look, really look at Adam’s lips, to wonder how they would feel against his own, to imagine what they would taste like. As Adam speaks, describing Megan’s betrayal and the horrors of Panchaea, Frank looks at him the way he has never let himself to look before, letting Adam’s voice flow as a background noise.

He wonders what it would be like to be close enough to be able to see through Adam’s dark glasses, to look into his eyes, not the perfect sky blue anymore, but beautiful nonetheless. How would it feel to look in the eyes that see and register everything? How could he even approach someone like him, so distant, so withdrawn and guarded? Even though this is one of those rare moments when Jensen opens up and shows his vulnerable side, it doesn’t make him any more approachable. If anything, Frank wonders how unwelcome it would be, were he to actually go for it. Would he be taking advantage of his colleague’s distress or would Adam welcome the affection?

When Adam falls silent once again, staring into nothingness, Frank understands he can’t afford to overanalyze it. The more he thinks about it, the more clear it becomes that it is up to him to take a step further. Now. It sounds silly in his head, but it really is that simple. Fight or flight. Take the chance or lose it forever.

With great effort to suppress his own thoughts and doubts, Frank slowly reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly against Adam’s cheek, a deliberate action, not to be mistaken for anything else, intimate and at the same time comforting. Adam’s lenses retract, revealing his artificial eyes, unreadable as always. Seconds pass and Frank doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath the entire time while waiting for Adam to decide if the gesture of affection is wanted or not.

Everything seems almost unreal and dreamlike when Adam sighs and leans into the touch, his eyes half-closed. Of all things, this has to be the least expected, to see him like this, reveling in the sensation of a gentle caress. Encouraged by this seemingly positive reaction, Frank whaps his hands around the other man’s neck, pulling him down, and there is no resistance. For a second he forgets how to breathe when their eyes meet, but then, drunk on his own courage, he presses his lips to Adam’s.

His own content sigh is stifled by Adam’s sealed lips, his touches met with an unyielding body, strong and perfect, overwhelmed, too surprised to react in any way, but it doesn’t stop him. He wanted this for so long, wanted so much that he forbade himself to even think about it, and now he’s sure as hell going to enjoy every last moment of it.

And then Adam is kissing him back, slowly but surely taking complete control of the situation, his fingers diving into Frank’s hair, pulling him closer, holding him in place. He tastes of smoke underscored faintly with whiskey, his other hand around Frank’s waist is only slightly colder than a regular person’s, but is most definitely stronger. Frank is pressed against the window frame with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs, but this breath, it’s stolen instead by Adam.

Both of them part their lips at the same time, their teeth clack, it’s a silly and funny and a little bit awkward, but somehow for that split second everything in the world is perfect.

The kiss ends not nearly as suddenly as it started. They savor each other thoroughly, exploring this newfound connection, and withdraw at the same time. Silence hangs in the air, disturbed only by their quickened breaths, and Frank thinks that his heartbeat can probably be heard all the way down to the dark streets of Detroit.

What does it all mean, he wonders, where are they to go from here? Does it change anything between them, or should they pretend it never happened?

“Stop overthinking everything for once,” Adam breaks the silence. Frank finally looks at the other man, and to his surprise, he’s smiling, the kind of smile obviously reserved for him, because he’s never seen Adam smile this way before. “You think so loudly I can literally feel your panic.”

“Yeah, well, I should have thought this through,” Pritchard grumbles defiantly, “One of us has to do the thinking, after all, and it’s definitely not going to be you.”

“Good god, Francis, one would think I finally found a way to shut you up.”

“ _You_ found a way?”

For a while they just glare at each other, with no real malice, but apparently despite the subtle change in their relationship, verbal sparring is a constant.

“Go the fuck to sleep, Jensen,” Frank scowls at the other man. The best solution to a problem is usually the easiest one.

To his astonishment, Adam actually listens to him for once.

“Are you still thinking of bolting the moment I hit the sack?” The voice reaches him from the bedroom.

“No,” Frank sighs in mock resignation, “I have to keep a watchful eye on you. Boss’s orders.”

“And here I thought you liked me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Frank says, though making sure the other man can hear the smile in his voice.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, _Francis._ ”

Adam’s laughter is his new favorite thing in the whole world.

***

The room is dark when Adam finally opens his eyes again. A few rays of light manage to sneak their way in, but it’s impossible to tell whether it’s sunlight or the usual Detroit street lights. He hopes it’s the former; with all the assignments and travelling he can barely remember when was the last time he has actually seen the sun. Days used to be for sleeping – in Malik’s helicopter, his own office or some seedy hotel in lower Hengsha. Whenever he’d happen to be out during the day, Detroit met him with its usual murky grayness and cold sludge – not really snow, but not really rain either – falling from the sky.

Suddenly he wishes for nothing more than one single day somewhere in the nature, with green trees and open fields, and sky so blue he could drown in it, feeling warm rays of sun on his face. One day where he doesn’t have to run all over the globe, in a race against time, hiding in air vents and breaking down walls. He wishes for that kind of day where you get up early in the morning, have a proper breakfast and good coffee with someone you love, pack up and then just drive in whichever direction, until there’s no more dusty suffocating city, only endless plains where the air is so fresh you can finally breathe freely.

“Oh would you stop sighing already, Jensen,” a disembodied voice of Frank Pritchard carries across the room from somewhere near the desk. “And brooding! What’s with the endless brooding? I can hear it all the way here.”

“Good morning, Francis,” it takes a while for Adam to find his own voice, and it’s still coarse and groggy from sleep.

“Morning already came and went, Adam,” he hears a clang of a cup being placed on the table, a book being slammed shut. “It’s evening again.”

“Oh,” he says, eloquently.

There is a sound of approaching steps, bare feet on the wooden floor, and then shuffling of blankets right next to him. The space on the other side of his bed has been empty for a very long time; so long, in fact, that Adam lost any desire to return home at all, for what is the point of coming home if there’s only cold bed, unpacked cardboard boxes and an indifferent voice of the security system to greet you? But now that space is filled with one particular computer genius, and somehow it doesn’t feel odd or unnatural in the slightest. In fact, these loose strands of hair tickling his ear, the scruffy chin on his shoulder and the tangle of limbs and blankets as he turns into the embrace feel so good, so undeniably perfectly right that it’s a mystery why he didn’t think of all this earlier.

“Go back to sleep, Adam,” Frank says, placing a feather-light kiss on his temple. “Once in a lifetime you get a chance to sleep as much as you need, and what do you do? You sigh, and brood, and mope, and wallow,” there’s discontent in Frank’s voice, but it’s distinctly lacking its usual venom, laced instead with genuine concern and worry.

“How exactly am I supposed to sleep with your running commentary right in my ear?”

 “Don’t pretend you can’t just block it out as you always do, Jensen.” Adam makes a face in response, Frank doesn’t see it, but Adam can sense the other man rolling his eyes all the same. “But do, in fact, go to sleep. Without looking so utterly dismayed, if you would.”

Adam sighs and pulls Frank closer, almost unconsciously, already drifting off.

“Forecast says it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow, you know.”

 

_  
Trying my best not to feel so inadequate_

_Hovering ever so delicate_

_Keeping this smile even though on the other side the lie_

_Can’t hold significance_

_Doing my best just to hold them in front of me_

_Keeping their strength from withering_

_When everything falls your song will deliver us all_

_Carry your legacy_

 


End file.
